


Stuck On You—College AU

by kozybear



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Peter Parker, F/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a dork, Reader sucks at Emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kozybear/pseuds/kozybear
Summary: The thing was, you agreed that your hallmate, Peter Parker, was cute. But nothing more than that.He was sweet, if a bit immature in his playfulness, and was so openly dorky that, the first time he had talked outside class about him fanboying over the Lord of the Rings series, you laughed—until you realized he was very serious.Alt. summary—Y/n is awful at realizing her own feelings, and it's for a pretty good reason, I think.Be warned, this is my first fanfic so the notes are awful, the writing is not refined, and I do avoid writing smut in favor of plot because I feel awkward, so skadoodles~
Relationships: Cindy Moon & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Tom Holland (Actor)/Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, okay so I think it's been years since I've written fanfic so feel free to absolutely demolish my spirit of writing into the ground. Or don't, whichever floats your boat.
> 
> Peter is aged up from Homecoming, but still in the same general universe—I think 19-20 is a safe range for this, right?
> 
> (P.S. Peter's popcorn obsession I swear is definitely NOT influenced by the fact that this one channel I love keeps promoting Lisa's Passion for Popcorn, and their flavors sound ridiculous but I've heard they're good. The popcorn flavors will progress with the story, so have fun with pointless allusions.)

—

The thing was, you agreed that your hallmate, Peter Parker, was cute. But nothing more than that. You first noticed him in your English class together; studies on Shakespearean literature. You hadn't exactly meant to sign up for that class—in fact, African literature was your first choice. But nonetheless, with him sitting right behind you in the second row, it was certainly difficult trying _not_ to glance behind you all the time. One day, a couple weeks into the semester, you strike up a conversation with him. And you _sort of_ got to know each other.

He was sweet, if a bit immature in his playfulness, and was so openly dorky that, the first time he had talked outside class about him fanboying over the Lord of the Rings series, you laughed—until you realized he was very serious.  
And you went along, because easily enough, you decided to say you liked that series, too. Though, you didn't know a whole lot about it. It was mainly an old artifact sitting in the basement in your dad's old movie collection.

But when you found out after getting post-class lunch with him that you lived in the same _dorm_ as him... Well, that changed some things you were thinking. Just a bit.

You'd been with your share of guys and wondered for a moment what it was like, what _he_ was like. After all, he seemed to have something like a gymnast's frame, lean, but not unathletic. In fact, you'd noticed some faint semblance of muscle when he would yawn and stretch in class. You would think about this... Until you remembered flatly that this was Peter you were thinking of. The adorable, but dorkly Peter Parker. About six months ago, around the time you met, you probably would've made a face. You actually _did_ make a face at the thought. But now, inevitably, there was still a tiny, itty-bitty sense of warmth that filled you whenever you two saw each other, and every once in a while, something about it would make you smile.

You were not exactly the relationship type, though. It just wasn't in your current potential to be emotionally available. And after about the third movie night that led to your first kisses, you had come clean about it.  
 _No relationship. No romance._ Just friends deciding to have added benefits to fit their needs. Keep things lowkey, and it'll continue to run its course. And while he hadn't said anything while explaining this to him, he shrugged and seemed to be in more or less agreement.  
Things seemed alright. He was alright, seemed perfectly normal. It was something about him that was reassuring to you. No red flags. The two of you had gone steadily into winter break without issue. You went back home to spend time with your family, and so did he with his Aunt May. Soon, you'd move back into the dorms and things would stay the same. He'd be the same, typical Peter, and you'd keep your sanity by deciding not to let your feelings take charge. It'd be the perfect coexistence.

But then again, it was just like you to trip over your feelings for a dork like him, wasn't it?


	2. An Initial Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes opened, not even sure when they fully closed, and up so close, you noticed for the first time consciously how good-looking he was; his skin was light, but just evened out in tone and tan enough from playing sports out on the quad. How a light splash of freckles washed over his nose bridge, each varying in shades, and his deep, brown eyes that could change from one moment to the next—warm to cold, affectionate to annoyed, back to affectionate again. Humor creasing the edges of his eyes. He could be upset about one of your pranks and then that familiar comfort of something deeper would come back to him.  
> Something deeper, but nothing more than friends with benefits. And maybe some level of genuine friendship.
> 
> _Wait, you guys were just friends... Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be less of a progression-of-a-relationship story and more of a oh-no-things-are-messed-up, time-to-fix-this story.
> 
> Following a specific narrative of the reader, and is this a vent of personal difficulty with emotional vulnerability? Possibly... not. :P
> 
> Some mild drama to ensue.

—

"I still don't get how she killed the Witch King," you grumbled, shoving a handful of kettle corn into your mouth.  
That sweet and savory crunch was just enough to get you through nearly four hours of the extended edition of _The Two Towers._ If it weren't for the popcorn, you likely would've fallen asleep long ago.  
"Because, y/n," Peter explained again, a hint of exasperation in his voice, "Merry's sword was magic, it wasn't a conventional weapon and that basically killed the Witch King's invincibility. Otherwise Eowyn wouldn't have been able to pierce through his body in order to..."

He went on for a while, and you let him. The two of you were sitting on the old couch in his dorm room for a pajama movie night. He was wearing what looked to be old superhero comic-patterned PJ's, and you were wearing a tank with the comfiest pair of oversized sweatpants. _Totally_ not a pair you stole from him.

"But how did they not die from this..." You made a classic thinking face, one that tended to scrunch up your nose in thought. "What was it again?"  
"His _poison_ , it was curse placed on him by Sauron when he—"  
"Wait a second... Who's Sauron again?" You interjected airily.  
You almost didn't notice how the movie was still going on, surprisingly, uninterrupted like usual.

Silence.  
Innocently, you turned to Peter, who by that point, was staring at you with the most blatant form of, _'You've got to be kidding me_ ,'look on his face.  
" _Oh my God_. Y/n, were you not listening to a single word I said?" He had a clear look of annoyance on his face. Less angry than peeved, but it was there. "I just spent the entire movie trying to explain to you the basics, the sheer basics of Middle Earth—"  
"I'm totally kidding," you replied, trying to seal in your laughter at his expression with a light smirk.  
You had to admit, he could be deadly cute when he got upset with you. The near endless amount of times you two have teased, irritated, provoked or irked each other was too many to count, yet it was sort of the regular rhythm that kept the banter interesting between the two of you.  
Otherwise, you'd seriously have to talk with Peter about Lord of the Rings, which, like the movie, could easily go on for hours.

"You're kidding?" Peter echoed, and after a second you almost believed he might've been genuinely upset.  
The smirk vanished from your lips and you opened your mouth to defend yourself or apologize. Whichever came first.  
Until unexpectedly, a piece of popcorn hit you just below the cheekbone.

Peter grinned. "That was me kidding, too."  
You blinked. _'Oh no, it's definitely on!'_ you thought to yourself. The edge of your mouth curled up in what could only be your typical expression of preparation for war. And it didn't go unnoticed.  
Peter knew that look.

"Wait, y/n, it was a joke," he chuckled nervously as he scooted back on the worn couch.  
For such a frequently used platform, there wasn't much space to move back to.

" _Right_. I know," you said breezily, left hand casually reaching in the bag for another handful of popcorn.  
He had the brief fearful expression of something like, _'Oh dear lord',_ before getting rained down on with stickle kettle corn.  
The dining halls on campus served fresh kettle corn, and the caramel was so perfectly glazed on; soft enough to be the perfectly self-glueing substance to almost anything, while maintaining the crispy crunch integrity of the best popcorn around.  
Needless to say, at least a good few stuck to his clothes.

"Oh, y/n! I just washed these!" He complained, though his sulking didn't last for long. He let loose a small grin as he just barely dodged yet another catapult of popcorn that followed.  
"Don't worry, I'll do your laundry next time," you promised, throwing another round at him from your cover behind the arm rest.  
Rounds were thrown, individual pieces of popcorn tossed back and forth, any hits to the face or neck taking precedence over the fact that you were basically at this point using up your entire bag of kettle corn.

Amazingly enough, after a quiet moment of ceasefire, Peter reappeared from behind the opposite side of the couch with a kettle corn caught almost perfectly between his teeth. A sly grin appeared on his face, or as much as he could show it with a single popcorn. He let it fall into his mouth with a soft crunch.  
"Truce?" He offered, standing up and meeting halfway across the front of the couch. His hand was held out in earnest. It was believable.  
After a moment of consideration (and you _did_ consider the last one-fourth of your popcorn bag) you decided to relent. After all, you two were the ones that had to clean up the messes after calling peace on the various popcorn wars.

An honest smile crossing your face, you stood up and reached out to shake his hand. You both shook. But just before you could pull your hand away, his grip tightened and, falling backwards onto the couch, he pulled you down on top of him.  
The ancient, spring-filled couch hardly cushioned the fall, but Peter did quite nicely and you ended up with a knee between his thighs, and a hand on top of the couch in a last resort attempt to resist the shameless ploy. The other was still glued to his, and he had a pretty strong grip for someone of his body type.  
Your faces were inches apart.  
He smirked, a gentle playfulness apparent in his gaze.

"This is definitely not a truce," you responded amusedly, but before you could say anything else, he leaned up and kissed your mouth softly, the taste of sweet caramel on his tongue.  
You began to kiss back, the two of you entranced in each other's breaths and sense of touch. And a few moments of gentle kissing later, he kissed deeper, fighting for dominance in the nearly airtight spaces between breaths. It wasn't serious, though. It was playful. A _challenge_. You matched him in the teasing, liking how his tongue glided over yours before he finally pulled back, a satisfying and gentle smooch sounding out as his lips parted with yours.  
Your eyes opened, not even sure when they fully closed, and up so close, you noticed for the first time consciously how good-looking he was; his skin was light, but just evened out in tone and tan enough from playing sports out on the quad. How a light splash of freckles washed over his nose bridge, each varying in shades, and his deep, brown eyes that could change from one moment to the next—warm to cold, affectionate to annoyed, back to affectionate again. Humor creasing the edges of his eyes. He could be upset about one of your pranks and then that familiar comfort of something deeper would come back to him.  
Something deeper, but nothing more than friends with benefits. And maybe some level of genuine friendship.

_Wait, you guys were just friends... Right?_

A couple moments passed as your eyes were stuck on his.  
The thoughts swimming in your mind must've shown, because his expression subtly shifted from its usual coyness, his brow now dipping in mild concern.  
"Is... Everything alright?" he asked, a hint of caution in his tone.  
His hands that were originally tightening around your waist in the heat of the moment had slowly transferred down to rub tentative circles on your hips.

This wasn't typical of you.

And you knew it, staring at him in that moment. Normally once things started, it didn't stop and there was no sense of the hesitation that you suddenly felt now.  
 _Why were you feeling like this?_  
"Yeah," you replied quickly, trying to hide the fact that anything out of the normal had just happened. A confusing attempt at a reassuring smile passed your face momentarily. "Yeah, I'm good."  
Leaning back down, you had started it off again, your hands on his shoulders and his hands reappearing around your waist. Gently.  
Still, despite his likely honest effort at a slower, more comfortable approach, something felt off.  
Your sense of hesitancy grew, and you could guess he probably sensed it.  
And the longer things went on, the more uncomfortable it made you feel.

"Wait, I-I'm... Sorry," you said breaking away from the contact.  
A puzzled expression conflicted with a lack of understanding flickered across Peter's face as you sat up on his hips. He looked up at you, an attempt for some communication, but you avoided his gaze, suddenly not wanting to meet his eyes. There was something about it that was unsettling in his earnest expression, and you couldn't quite put your finger on it at the moment.  
Whatever it was, it made you feel deeply insecure.

"I'm sorry," you apologized again nervously.  
You and Peter had, by this point, had sex dozens of times. At points, it was jaw-dropping, hot sex that left you hungry for more, and other times it was just vanilla and sweet enough that it made your streak with him not feel so over the top. Your history with him was just varied and kinky enough that it made Peter seem... _kind of sexy._  
And you had to admit, you weren't exactly expecting that from someone who was still into Legos. _So the fact that this was coming up now..._

"Do you want to just..." Peter raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Cuddle...? Or something?"  
When you didn't answer, he tried again.  
"Or, you know, I mean you could leave if you want," he added a bit awkwardly. "Or, I mean—if you want to _stay,_ that's cool too, we don't have to talk and I could probably get some physics homework done anyway..."  
Right. Peter Parker. The physics major. On top of engineering. How exactly he managed a double major while falling asleep in class half the time from the lack of sleep (though, you knew _why_ he sometimes didn't get enough sleep), all the while spending a fair amount of time watching blockbuster movies with you, was beyond belief. Some people just seemed to defy the impossible.  
But right now, that wasn't quite what was on your mind.

"I think... I think I'll just go back to my room," you faltered slightly, pushing yourself off of him.  
He nodded, but still seemed confused, that mixed emotion of concern still in his eyes.  
"I'll make it up to you. Promise," you said hastily as you took a step towards the door.  
But to be honest, you weren't really sure when you would next want to spend time with him like this. You wouldn't... At least not until you had things sorted out.  
"Okay," Peter called, propping himself up on the couch. "I'll... See you later then?"

You barely caught his last words as you made your way out of his dorm room and closed the door, taking a couple steps out into the hall. Your foot crunched, and with a wince, you looked down to see a crushed piece of popcorn beneath it..  
Pretty soon though, you got the crumbs off your socks and briskly walked back to your room down the hall, a sense of dread balled up in your stomach.


	3. Sense of Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Psst. Can we talk?_
> 
> Peter. You should've known.  
> Turning your phone back over again, you tried to listen back in to the professor discussing Twelfth Night. Currently she was discussing Sir Andrew's challenging Viola (dressed as Cesario) to a duel. The lecture continued to drone on, the professor's notes bouncing from one subject to the other, it seemed forever. And while this was a play of Shakespeare's you were interested in, you couldn't seem to concentrate on the subject matter.  
> Instead of writing notes, your mechanical pencil seemed to scribble aimlessly on the neatly lined page. It was a habit that could occasionally help you to actually think, but usually was more of an emotional distraction.
> 
> Your phone buzzed again, this time with somewhat more resolve. You knew exactly where he was sitting, and knew that if he kept this up, he would likely get in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so after this chapter I'm really going to start expanding on the plot in a slightly different direction, and I really want to spend some time on this so readers can probably expect an update every few days to a week or so!
> 
> Peter is a dorky boy... As usual... But he has feelings, as you'll see in the next chapter. :)
> 
> Also likely from now on, there's going to be a switch in POV's every now and then. Maybe every chapter or every other chapter or so. I'm not entirely sure where this is going, but I have some fun ideas to work with.
> 
> Enjoy.

—

A whole week had passed since you last spoke to Peter.

That meant that seeing him, responding via text, class interaction, conversations, even saying your usual 'hi's' in the hall—all of that was abruptly cut short. When something bothered you, as in truly bothered you, you tended to do probably the worst thing anyone in the history of any kind of relationship could do to another person:

Ghosting.

Your phone buzzed, a notification _ding_ going off in the middle of class lecture. You'd even went through the effort to sit in a distinctly different place far from where Peter could see you during class. You showed up late so you could see where he'd be sitting, just to sit far behind him and out of sight. He was never a student to particularly sit way in the back, and well, prior to this, neither were you. Until things got personal.  
Eyes daring to glance down, you flipped your phone over to from its blissfully ignore-able state, screen-down, and checked to see who it was.

_Psst. Can we talk?_

A text from Peter. You should've known.  
Turning your phone back over again, you tried to listen back in to the professor discussing _Twelfth Night_. Currently she was discussing Sir Andrew's challenging Viola (dressed as Cesario) to a duel. Probably one of the more fun parts of the play, though it didn't seem very humorous to you at that moment. The lecture continued to drone on, the professor's notes bouncing from one subject to the other, and it seemed to last forever. And while this was a play of Shakespeare's you _were_ interested in, you couldn't seem to concentrate on the subject matter.  
Instead of writing notes, your mechanical pencil seemed to want to scribble aimlessly on the neatly blue-lined page. It was a habit that could rarely help you to actually think, and excelled at what one could definitively call emotional distraction.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with somewhat more resolve. You knew exactly where he was sitting, and knew that if he kept this up, he would likely get in trouble.

_Okay, maybe later then..._

You let out a low breath, determined to clear your head of all thoughts of Parker until you could get some _room_ to think about it. The only issue with that, you knew, is that you would most likely try to avoid thinking about it once you actually got the chance.

"Mr. Parker!" The professor called in a sharp tone from the front of the room.  
You glanced to your left to where he sat near the front of the huge lecture room, in time to see him fumble with his phone for a second before attempting to nonchalantly slip it in his pocket. You're pretty sure it never got there.

"Y-Yes, _hi_ , uh... Sorry. Professor Underwood..." You heard him reply somewhat weakly.

"Do you have a good reason for texting in class, Mr. Parker?" The professor folded her arms across her chest patiently.  
For a class with a zero-phone policy, the professor was pretty open to students and their grounds for phone use, but Peter wasn't a believable liar. He wasn't even good at lying if he tried. Hell, if the world depended on it. And he knew he didn't have a valid reason for using it.

 _"Yeah,"_ you heard him say, in his awful, _'Hey everybody, I'm lying!'_ voice. "Uh... no. Sorry, I was just—"  
Without having to look up, you knew by the silence that followed that he was told to leave. No excuses.  
You kept your head down as you heard the doors near the back row where you were sitting, creak open and, after a painful few seconds of footsteps echoing down the hall, shut closed. The room was quiet before Professor Underwood continued with her lecture again.

—

Once class ended, and you had finally mustered up some focus to write down _semi-decent_ notes, you couldn't help but feel a mental stab to your conscience, like you'd done something wrong. You had a hunch what it was from, and according to your gut, confronting it seemed like a bad option. Staring down the beast of confrontation was _not_ your forte, and it was almost criminal how good you were at avoiding it. Though, despite your best efforts to avoid it, the beast seemed to want to confront you directly.  
Peter had apparently been sitting just outside of the building's doors, waiting to catch you on the way out.

"Hey, y/n." You heard a familiar voice from behind you.

You didn't stop walking. You hardly turned your head, set on continuing with your emotionally-panicked strain of thoughts in the very promising mental space _, Neverland._  
Peter caught up to you in a jog. He seemed fairly upbeat for someone who was just ghosted for a week straight. Once by your side, he matched the walking speed and tried to peer closer to get a look at you.  
"Hey, uh... I just wanted to ask you a question. Is it cool if I ask you a question?" he asked, trying to keep up pace with you among the students bustling along the sidewalk.  
You didn't know whether it was a good idea to respond or not, so out of instinct, you didn't.

Silence was briefly met with silence. And a few uneasy glances your way.  
English was your last class of the day, and it used to be your favorite last class because you could get to de-stressing right after with Peter. Now, you really wished it weren't. You needed space. In the very least, you needed the walk from here to the dorms.  
He seemed to be working up some nerve, and for a little while the two of you were walking in continued awkward silence. Finally, he seemed to build up the courage and stepped in front of you, just in front of your shared hall. It brought you to a halt.  
"Hey, _uh_... Did I... Did I do something wrong?" he asked.  
Even if he didn't mean to, his feelings betrayed his expression. He looked a little hurt.

There it was, the pang of guilt. You knew it was wrong to let him think that it was him, and yet... You also knew it wasn't fair to lie to him about how you were feeling, either. Not someone like Peter. You felt stuck in the war between trying to figure things out and talking to him. It was difficult, and you weren't sure if he would get it. That was the vice that held you back.  
You glanced up for the first time since seeing him and couldn't hold his gaze.

For all the experience you had, it just wasn't the same with him. Some guys you were capable of lying to, act a fake kind of normal but not quite as eager until the relationship died out on its own. Not with him. He was too...

You sighed.  
_You didn't know._ He was too _honest_ , maybe.

"'Cause I mean, if I did something wrong, I... You know. Want to apologize for it at least," he said in a low voice.  
A hand passed over the nape of his neck as he spoke. He was fidgety, you noticed. His hands seemed to not know where to go. Normally you might've thought this was cute, but in this situation, it wasn't. He was trying to have a serious conversation.  
Guilt ached in your chest, enough to finally get you to respond.

"You... Have nothing to apologize for, Peter," you murmured.  
And it was true. Pretty much none of the reasons why you weren't talking to him was his fault. It was yours. Years of certain kinds of relationships, dysfunction... It was all baggage that you still carried around with you to this day. It seemed to control your natural instinct. Even though you were sure you got through most of it. Just when you thought it was all resolved, it would come back biting in some of the worst ways.  
Like your friendship with Peter.

He seemed a little relieved at your response, but at the same time, you knew that wasn't good enough of an answer for him.  
You stood there, arms wrapped around the notebook from the lecture. You couldn't seem to get out of there fast enough.

"Well that's good... I think," he replied with a slight quirk to his expression.

 _"Yup_ , it is," you finally said, letting out a huge breath before pushing past him, wanting nothing more than to get to your dorm room and bury your face into the mattress for a little longer than ten hours.  
He seemed unsettled with himself, and before you could go up the steps to the dorm doors, he spoke up.

"Hey, y/n, see the thing is, I think you're pretty awesome..." From the outset, you could sense this was leading into something. "...and, you know, I sort of like you—"  
As soon as the L word left his lips, you spun around. Almost immediately, he seemed to realize his own mistake and tried to quickly recover.

 _"Yourrrrrrrr hair,_ I like your hair, it's um—it's very... Voluminous," he said uneasily, making a brief and _very weird_ gesture that could have maybe resembled extremely fluffy hair.  
"It uh... _Yeah_ , I definitely don't—it smells nice, I meant to ask, uh... what kind of conditioner do you use?"

You couldn't tell whether you were frowning or looked confused. Probably both.  
"It's a deep conditioner."

And on _that_ pleasant note...

"Right on... _Right._ Yeah," he mumbled, giving a thumbs up as you headed into the dorm.

Inside, students were out and about, which made you somewhat relieved he had decided to have this conversation before you got inside. The constant students passing by, the thin walls, all of it made you feel a bit self-conscious at the thought of _'what-if'_ that conversation happened in-dorm.  
Still, you could feel a small smile growing on your cheeks at his stupid silliness. He was pretty see-through when it came to what he meant to say in any given situation. He was the type of person whose emotions betrayed action.  
It was comforting to know people like him still existed.

But that warm feeling was quickly replaced by the same dreadful pit in your stomach once you were left in the silence of your own room.


	4. Definitely Not That Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter from Peter's POV, and maybe he's freaking out a little...
> 
> Also Ned's in here, too! I'm not the MOST familiar with his character, so sorry in advance, could always use some tips. :')  
> (Though from what little I know about him, he sort of reminds me of some of my good friends, haha.)
> 
> Okay, this one's a little more brief, but enjoy!  
> Be warned: Things will get saucy after this. I think. Maybe a chapter later, idk.

—

"Oh my gosh, _no,_ I know I totally ruined it," Peter groaned, voice muffled from being buried miles deep in his arms.  
He was in a deep, dark place of shame, and all he could think about was yesterday, when he had told y/n that he _liked her._

"Dude, c'mon it's probably not _that_ bad," Ned offered with a strong pat on the shoulder.  
"Dude, I don't think you're right," Peter responded flatly, face now flat on the dining hall table. 

Being a friend of almost six years now didn't make his untruths any more comforting.

"Tell me man, what's so special about this girl anyway? I thought you guys were just going to be friends."  
Peter lifted his head long enough to watch Ned take a massive bite of this week's Sunday special: a sloppy joe.  
"We are, I think... _Friends._ " Peter sighed uncertainly.  
"With benefits," Ned added gleefully.  
"Dude!" Peter nearly gave him a death stare before taking a quick glance around the room. "Shush! The entire room isn't supposed to know! _You're_ not even supposed to know."

Ned seemed unbothered as he finished up the sandwich.   
"So when were you ever going to go from 'just friends'," he said, gesturing air quotes, "To dating her? I thought you liked her."  
Peter's ears turned red and he could feel his face doing the same.  
"I don't..."  
"You're lying."  
"I'm not—"  
"Yes you are," Ned scoffed. "Big fat lie."  
"Okay, well I don't exactly _want_ to like her," Peter retorted hotly. "I just... _I dunno._ We just mesh... Or something."  
"Yeah you do," his friend chuckled. "You two mesh all over the place. Mesh on the bed, mesh on the _couch_ —"  
"Ned, pleeaassseee shut up," he begged his friend, both hands over his eyes.

But he couldn't really say much, well since Ned was his roommate so every time y/n had come over, he'd been extremely accommodating.  
He was a good friend.

"Man, I gotta be honest. I don't even know why you agreed to be friends with benefits. I'm shocked you didn't ask her out after you guys hooked up. You really aren't the non-committing type, dude, and that's extremely important to know about yourself."  
Ned was right. Peter found he got attached to people, a little too easily. Liz in high school. MJ as well. Now y/n in his dorm. Probably one of the worst physical places to get into a gray area with someone.  
He definitely had a weakness for monster crushing on girls he didn't always know the best. Feelings seemed to come out of nowhere for him.

But he'd gotten to know y/n. At least, he thought he did. He'd spent a ton of time with you in the past semester and a half. Not only were you cute, but you could also take a joke, and could make him laugh and somehow something about you was just captivating _while_ being physically attractive as well. You got on his nerves, but not many people could push his buttons like that without him actually getting frustrated with you. That expression of coyness she gave before you two would make out... _And_ you'd sat through the entire extended edition of _LOTR._ _Like, who else does that?_

"Dude, you're practically drooling." Ned interrupted his thoughts with a remark.  
Peter glanced up at Ned sheepishly, taking a deep breath. He could bounce back from this. With you.

"And if you _did_ date her..."  
"Which I _won't,_ " Peter interrupted.  
"...When were you going to tell her about... _You know._ " Ned gave a nod to the side, meant to imply something.  
Peter stared at him blankly.  
"You know," he continued, more pressing this time. "The _hrrng_."  
"My what?"  
" _The thing. Your_ thing. About being _ider-man spay_."  
"Dude, your Pig Latin is awful," Peter deadpanned, trying to get around the subject. He paused. "And I... Sort of didn't really plan on telling her."  
"What, like _ever?_ That's a really bad idea, man."

Peter let out a huff of breath, feeling conflicted. While it wasn't his normal gig, he'd noticed a pattern that people he told in the past, the secret usually didn't end well off. It became something that seemed to divide people rather than keep them together. It was a source of conflict and tension for practically everyone, including himself. Aunt May was probably the only person who seemed to be good at keeping cool about it.

"I don't want to tell her cause I don't want her to be freaked out, okay?" He threw his arms up exasperatedly. "I just feel like she'll freak, and—and just look how it went with MJ—"  
"Please, Peter. That's _not_ what broke you guys up." Ned scoffed then said thoughtfully, "Like yeah, it was ugly but that's not—"  
"Okay dude, I get it," Peter sighed.

The buzz of a thousand students invested in conversation continued around them. Peter sat in silence for a few seconds, trying to think. He ended up staring down at his plate, drew his attention to his meal. He knew he probably should eat, but suddenly the pepperoni pizza didn't seem so appetizing anymore. Especially after the layer of grease on it got cold.

"You gonna eat it, or make out with it?" Ned laughed.  
Peter rolled his eyes at his best friend.  
"Sorry. Too soon?" his friend asked before they both got up to put their trays away.

Peter shook his head as they made their way to the trash cans across the room. "I just feel like I have to, like, make it up to her somehow," he sighed, tossing the perfectly decent pizza slice into the trash.  
He wasn't sure exactly how he would do it, since you'd never really told him what was up in the first place.  
"Maybe get her a present, man. Chicks love presents. Show her you're committed and you want things to work."  
"If I get her a present, she'll just think I have feelings for her," Peter retorted.  
"But you do—"  
" _No._ And I'm not getting her 'apology food' like you do with your girlfriend. I don't even know what I'm apologizing for!" He paused as Ned met his gaze with a look. "And no, I'm not getting her churros."  
Ned held his arms up in disbelief. "Who doesn't like churros?!"  
He was preoccupied giving Peter the stink eye while something came to mind.

"Wait," Peter started in sudden realization, turning to Ned. "She rooms with MJ." _Why hadn't he thought about this before?_

Ned's brow creased, then his eyes widened in dismay.  
"Oh no, dude, _no no no no._ Are you nuts? You really want to open that can of worms now? You didn't exactly break up on a good note."

It was true, that him and Michelle's relationship didn't end so well. According to Ned, the traits that initially drew them together, they ended up hating about each other. And Peter had to somewhat agree. Her sense of humor was sharp and quippy, and after a while, it got grating. Long story short, they were too at odds to be compatible and he'd loved her, but it just didn't work.

"I think I can talk to her by now," Peter suggested, even though he definitely wasn't sure he could talk to her by now.  
The longer he knew her, the more it seemed she was good at saying the exact opposite of what she meant. Her sense of irony got a little too smooth. It was to a point where Peter couldn't even respond because most of the time, his responses wouldn't make sense.

"I'm pretty sure she's the type to hold grudges, man." Ned shook his head as he and Peter headed out the doors of the dining hall.  
Peter shrugged nonchalantly as he pushed the doors open. He tried to find solace in the idea that it _would_ work.

"It's been two years, man. How long can a grudge last?"


	5. In It For the Long Haul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied. Things aren't picking up quite... Yet.
> 
> HOWEVER, I just finished planning out the rest of these chapters, so stay tuned if you like... Plot. And stuff.
> 
> (Also MJ rocks and even though honestly I don't think her and Peter's personalities would "mesh" :P I think she's such a refreshing take on the Mary Jane trope, even though she's technically not...???)  
> Enjoy.

—

“Talk to me. What’s up?” Michelle asked as you paced the length of your room for the hundredth time.

She watched as you went back and forth, sitting backwards in the chair, chin resting at the top of it. Exasperation dragged at your heels but not enough to make you stop. From her general nonchalantness, you'd figured by this point this had fallen into normal routine for the two of you. You could cope with a _lot of things_ , but emotions weren't one of them.  
Sucks that it had to be a part of life.

You were starting to get mildly dizzy from the amount of times you've turned on your heel. The dorm rooms weren't huge.  
MJ eyed you levelly.  
"If you don't sit down, I'm pretty sure you're going to pass out."  
With a sigh, you took her suggestion and sat in the office chair in front of her desk. Mainly because she was currently sitting in yours.

"You know you can talk about your problems with me," she said, spinning the chair around once.  
You frowned. "But you won't talk about _your_ problems?"  
"Nope."  
"Why? We've been roommates for two years."  
MJ smiled, but in a secretive type of way. "Because I won't, and I don't have to. But you sure seem like you do."

Fair enough point, though you wished she'd at least vent _once_ or show when she was angry, or _something._ Still, you gave in, mostly because you were tired of fighting it at this point.

"I just _feel bad_. You having to listen to me all day," you said with a frown, leaning back in the chair.  
"Listen," she replied, "If I don't talk about my issues, I don't combust like you do. You're acting like you talk about yourself all the time. When's the last time you talked to me about Peter?"

That gave you pause. it'd been a while since you'd had the time or mental space to sit down and have a 'girl talk'.

"Geez... Has it been that long?" You asked apologetically to her.  
"Eh, not that long," she smirked. "Just about... Two months, six days, roughly thirteen hours."

You couldn't quite tell if she was joking or not, but you definitely wouldn't be surprised if she kept track. She was surprisingly detail-oriented. She was the perfect candidate for pre-law.

" _Fine,"_ you said exaggeratedly and with a small smile. "I'll talk if you promise not to talk shit."  
"About Peter? Never." She said, overly serious.

You both laughed for a moment, and she waited for you to start.

"Okay, so... Things were going _well_ , but..." You tried to find the words. "I... think I messed up."  
MJ didn't seem particularly deterred by this. "How so?"  
"A couple weeks ago we were watching a movie, and I just felt. I don't know. Uncomfortable?"

She peered at you for a moment, nodding as if she'd come to a conclusion of sorts. "Was it _The Two Towers?_ _"_   
You scoffed, rolled your eyes. "Yeah, he's such a nerd for that series— _Wait_ , how did you know?" You asked with a laugh.  
"Please, y/n, I've known him since freshman year of high school. That is his favorite movie, and I'm pretty sure if he could, he'd watch it till the end of _existence_ ," she scoffed.

Much to your sense of dread, you could see that. You raised your eyebrows humorously.

"He also _really_ likes Eowyn, but probably doesn't want to admit he likes you better."

That made you pause. ' _What?'_

"Okay, so uh, I didn't say anything, but I know he most definitely likes you. The last girl who even remotely agreed to build a Lego set with him, he fell really hard for. You guys built the Death Star together."  
"It was over drinks," you insisted with a shy shrug. "I doubt he remembers that."  
"Oh, honey he definitely remembers that. It's sitting in _his room,"_ she reminded you, getting up to go lie on the bottom bunk. Aka, your bunk. "I wouldn't be surprised if he never took it apart again."

She left one leg straight, one bent, reaching around to grab a small teddy bear from near the pillows. You'd brought him from home, a small, slightly childish comfort.

"So... I just wanted to ask," you said, leaning forward towards her. "You're... Peter and my whole thing—you're not mad about it?"  
You'd been meaning to ask her ever since you found out from Ned that they'd dated in high school. And that was unfortunately _after_ you'd had multiple conversations with Michelle about it.

"Nope," she replied setting the teddy bear on her lap. "I mean, not gonna lie, I was a bit salty about it. But mostly at Peter, not at you."  
You nodded, understandingly.  
"But," she said, sitting up. "Believe it or not, despite what they think, I am _not_ the type to hold grudges." She reinspected the teddy bear, staring at his heart nose, just slightly torn.  
"Damn, how old is this thing?"  
"He's not that old..."  
"Y/n, he looks like his face is falling off," she commented.  
"Sir Bearington is just a refined gentleman, and I've had him since I was four," you defended him, but couldn't help but laugh along. "He's mature, and I like that in... _men,"_ you finished awkwardly.  
MJ snorted, "Yeah, that's why you're seeing _Peter."_

You stood up and snatched Sir Bearington back, gently smoothing out his head. It was a little patchy, but he needed a haircut when you were seven.

After putting him safely back into his pillow bed, MJ decided to get the conversation back on track.  
"So anyways, you were watching Fantasy Central with him, then what happened? You said you felt uncomfortable?"

You were trying to think back to that point, to explain yourself. Your actions.  
"We were getting a little flirty, and we started making out—"  
"Wait, when you say 'flirty', that means...?"  
"Uh... Playful, you know."  
MJ just raised an eyebrow.  
"Okay, we threw popcorn at each other, but he totally started it," you muttered.  
"Ah," she laughed ruefully. "So _that's why_ there was ants that week. Sorry, anyway continue?"  
You huffed. "Once we started kissing, it just got... _Weird_ , like something changed."  
"Talk to me, in detail, everything leading up to that," she told you, nodding behind you to pass an old bag of popcorn from your desk.  
You passed it to her in thought, while she examined the bag before trying it.  
"Up to what point?"  
"From the popcorn throwing, I guess." She popped another one into her mouth. "Damn. Even a week in, they're still crunchy."

You brought yourself back to that day, the room, and unwillingly, _The Two Towers._

"We were throwing popcorn, and I threw some at him and he complained cause it got on his pajamas," you started but MJ cut you short.  
"Speed up."  
"Okay, um... He caught one in his mouth, and... Honestly it was _kind of impressive_ —"  
"Okay, no speed up some more."  
You had to think. "He called a truce and when we were shaking hands, he sort of pulled me down."

MJ finally seemed a little more thoughtful, and didn't cut you off again. "Like, onto the floor?"  
"No," you responded. "Like, on top of him..."  
"And that's when you got uncomfortable?"

_Was it?_

"No..." You didn't think it was that. "We started kissing and I kind of opened my eyes and looked at him, and... He just looked different."  
"Is that it?"  
You nodded.

For the first time Michelle seemed to be contemplative. "Yup, I got it."  
Some anticipation with hope rose up in your chest. Someone maybe finally understood you. "Yeah?"  
"Oh, absolutely," she said with a devilish grin. "You caught feelings for him."

That was the last answer you expected. You opened and closed your mouth, but no words came out. Until finally, they did. "I definitely don't."  
"Yes, you do."  
"Michelle, I don't like Peter."

"Okay, so here's the thing," she stated, stretching before resting her hands on the top of her head. Her eyes were staring up to the ceiling in thought. "You like Peter, but you've got a fear of intimacy, like real feelings and all that crap, so you just don't want to admit it. And reason why I know this," Michelle continued, bringing her eyes down to meet yours. "Is because we're basically the same person in that regard. The main difference between us being, you bullshit yourself into believing your own denial."

 _"Holy shit."  
_You were quiet for a long time. The realization dawned on you, and it dawned on you hard. The sinking feeling that accompanied you figuring out your own emotions weighed down like a freight train in your chest. Your heart pounded, feeling like someone banging on a vault from inside. This was bad. This was _very,_ very bad.  
  


"Hey listen," Michelle said after some silence. "I know you've got some shit to deal with, with your family and all. But Peter isn't like that. I should know." She leaned back on the bed, now sitting criss-cross.

You heard her, but all you could think about was the fear that you felt. You loathed the feeling of falling in love, because it only led back to fear.

"Hooking up is sort of new territory for him," she continued. "He's more of a 'proper' boy, he wants to ask a girl out on a date and go from there. When he likes someone, he's in it for the long haul."

Glancing up at your roommate again, you said in a low tone, "I don't want him to like me."  
She nodded, in understanding. "Fair enough. But just use this as an opportunity to figure yourself out. Don't just pass it up, cause family stuff just comes back to haunt you."  
Standing, she walked over and rested a hand on your shoulder, giving it a few pats.

"I'm gonna go next door."  
You glanced at her in question. "To Bryon's room?"  
She shrugged. "Yeah, we're supposed to play some Fortnite, order pizza."  
"Is that how he gets you to sleep with him?" You quipped.  
"As I said," she shrugged, stepping into a pair of slippers. "I don't catch feelings, unlike you." With a sly grin and a wave, she was gone from their room.

You could hear her knock and the muffled greetings next door.

She was right. The past does come back to haunt you. And it would until you confronted it again.


	6. A Pick-Me-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter's going to be cute, and DOUBLE WARNING: It's the only chapter that's going to be this way (sorry).
> 
> There will be cute moments, but outside of this wholesome atmosphere, the plot starts after this one for REALZ, so prepare yourself.  
> (I guess as a result of things feeling plotsy before and suddenly this, maybe it doesn't fit the tone of the story, but I thought it was going to be overly depressing if I didn't give out some free marshmallows, so here you go!)
> 
> Also mid-writing this chapter, I realized yet another dumb trait that sometimes makes Peter really bad at being Spider-man: he's directionally challenged.
> 
> ALSO by the way, I'm not sure how many campuses have them, but there is mention of blue light security boxes in this, and basically they're for if you're on campus and being followed/attacked/chased, you hit the blue button on any you pass by and the campus police will be be alerted to your location. So there's that, too.
> 
> Actual warnings of the following content: almost kidnapping, some violence, and mentions of blood.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: also this is a long f*cking chapter, my brain has no word count boundaries...

—

It had been almost a month since he'd talked to you.

Well, to be more exact, it was roughly about three weeks and seven days, but who's counting, right? Definitely not him.

A warm draft lifted upwards towards the roof of the dorm building overlooking the alleyway between two halls: Brownstone and Miller. And although it was one of the lesser lit areas of campus, Peter couldn't really justify to himself why he was _there_ in the Spider suit when he should've been out in the local town area where there was more crime than on campus. Well, actually no. He had _one_ reason.

"Haven't seen you 'round here in a while, Spidey."  
Lithe hands wrapped themselves around his shoulders from behind, and he could feel her leaning in towards the nape of his neck, soft breaths giving him chills. Her voice was sweet and sultry, and not unfamiliar.

"Sorry, I've just been busy. Homework and stuff..." He kicked his feet out from over the ledge, feeling her body pressed up against his.

He was aware of it. _Very_ aware.  
Cindy Moon. Someone he'd known from academic decathlon in high school. She was probably one of the smartest people he'd known from school, so it wasn't that surprising she'd been accepted to the same great program as him for science. He had remembered something, a rumor floating around from middle school about how she had photographic memory. While he never got to find out whether it was true or not, she did have an affinity for consistently getting better grades than him even in his best subjects.

She'd changed a lot since high school. Her features had broadened out, and he guessed she'd hit a growth spurt. Her personality seemed... mellower. And now she had hips. In fact, he'd hardly recognized her.

" _Right,_ because with the suit and all, that really must be your priority: _homework."_ Her hands caressed his shoulders for a minute, and Peter felt her pause. "Tense. You sure you've just been hunched over a desk all this time?"

Truth be told, he'd been doing more hero work ever since his window of free time had significantly opened up. No more movie marathons meant that he had more opportunities to go out and protect people. And... _chat_ with other people.

And that's how _this_ happened. He should've looked at the map of campus _at least_ a few times over within the course of the first semester, but he didn't. Normal work one night brought him to (what he didn't know then) was the roof of a dorm. If he'd looked over the map of the campus buildings better, this probably could've been avoided. But it was 4:00am, and he hadn't exactly been expecting anyone to be up on the no-access roof of the Brownstone dorm hall. But somehow, she was up there. And once he recognized her, he'd hesitated for too long. She'd striked up a discussion and it went from there.

Every time he visited... Well, it wasn't exactly a _visit_. Just a few conversations here and there, getting to know each other. But when he did visit, the mask always stayed on. So he had nothing to worry about. It's not like he had any classes with her. All of the science classes were different sections from his. And she didn't know his secret.

He slowly relaxed into her touch as she began to gently massage, working her way up his neck muscles and back down.  
"It's true," Peter responded with a wince.  
She'd massaged into a sore spot.

With a soft smile, she let up on that spot and started again, this time even gentler. "Sounds like you need to unwind," she commented, hands loosing their grip until they worked back up the neck and came up to his jawline.  
Hands gently guided Peter to face her. His eyes followed. Slowly, but firmly, fingers slipped underneath the mask and he could feel the skin below his neck become exposed to the night air. It felt nice, the breeze wafting past his face like this...

_'Wait a second, no no no nonononoo—'_

Quickly, he snapped the edge of the mask back down, feeling his heart almost drop out of his chest as his balance teetered for a second. _God, he'd almost slipped off._ What an ending that would've been.  
"Whoa, _wait a second._ What are you doing?" Peter tried not to let his alarm show through. But he was leaning back. Real far out. Off the building.

Cindy froze, then laughed. "It wasn't going to be the entire thing. Just the bottom half."

 _'What on earth for?'_ he thought to himself.

"I was going to kiss you."

He could feel his face heating up underneath the mask.  
" _Um_ , I—"

Thank _God_ he didn't have to finish that sentence.  
Below them in the alleyway, something clanged.

Peter finished securing the mask briefly before peering over the edge. He was surprised to see y/n, strolling past a dumpster. It looked like you'd just thrown something away in the trash. He watched for a minute. It was getting near dusk, not incredibly late, but sometimes shady characters came out to campus before campus security was out. Luckily, you weren't one of them.

"Is everything okay?" Cindy asked.

Sitting back up, he glanced at Cindy, a sense of awkwardness rising up.  
" _Yeah_ , yeah, no everything's fine, just, you know, checking things out," Peter replied, hands automatically turning to finger guns. _Wow, he still did that..._

A frown, but more questioning than anything else. "Okay, well if you need to go, then—"

"No, I can stay," Peter piped up before something else caught his attention below.

The sound of a blade switching. A switchblade. And he didn't remember you having one.

A peek below showed a man, not the tallest, but definitely taller than you, trailing you from the back of the alleyway. He stopped once you went back around the corner and followed you about twenty feet back.  
That was definitely _not_ a college student.

"Wait, _sorry Cindy_ , hold that thought—" And within seconds, he was gone, swinging down from between the two buildings and hit the ground running.

Cindy stared after him a moment, a familiar, but awkward feeling of some stray memory hitting her. She tried to mentally find it it, but lost it when something else came up in her mind.  
"Wow, he really just used finger guns."

——

Down below, Peter was quickly focused in on locating the guy creeping on you.

Once he was down on the ground, he glanced around to make sure the rest of the alley was clear before moving up to the corner towards the back of Brownstone Hall. Just down the street, the guy started to tighten the space between him and his target. But no switchblade. You and him disappeared into a dark parking lot behind a series of dorm buildings.

Peter was pretty sure he knew this part of campus well enough by now, and took a left and decided to cut through a different route, one that would hopefully get him in between you and the culprit without him noticing. He hopped through a couple of lecture halls, went up the quad, and circled back around to where you would've ended up, around the back of the hall you two shared.  
But you weren't there. And neither was the guy following you.

_Shit._

This is definitely where you should've been. When he definitely didn't see you around that parking lot, he decided to head up. He contemplated the best course of action as he surveyed from the rooftops, and after a minute or so, it seemed like a neat game of Marco-Polo wouldn't be the _worst_ idea. And then he heard you scream.

_Oh boy._

He raced to the source of the sound and it was nowhere _near_ where he thought you'd be.

Instead, you were behind a separate hall, a couple buildings down from where you lived. You were backed up against a wall of a a dead end, where there was a card opening to the building. You must've dropped your student card, because it wasn't anywhere in sight. The creeper was coming from the open end, hand moving down to his jeans pocket.  
He kept on trying to quiet you down, saying something like he wasn't planning on hurting you or anything. But you figuring out that was bullshit, continued screaming for help.

So Peter shot a web towards a street light and swung down to the ground as quietly as he could. He appeared behind the creeper, putting a finger up to his mask as he peered out from behind the figure.

You stared for a moment, the fear inside you lowering to a level in which you _weren't_ screaming anymore. The man must've thought you were finally buying into his act, because he responded with,

" _There, there._ See? No need to worry, I ain't gonna do anything." And he continued walking closer.

And for the first time, you both noticed the man was acting a little strange. He seemed high on _something_.

Peter figured it couldn't hurt to play around a little bit. He was still a good distance away, about fifteen feet, and he stuck his head out from behind the guy again. He did a little twirl of his finger near the side of his head.

That made you crack a smile, and it was at that point the creeper's attention turned to behind him.  
He frowned.  
"Who the hell are you?!"

Peter's eyes flitted from you to the guy.  
"Uh, wait, you don't know who I am?"  
"No, I don't."  
"Okay, I mean I'm—"

"That's Spider-man," your voice piped up from end of the alley.

It took a minute for this guy to decide what to do first. He was technically trapped between the two of you now. Eyes shifting from one end to the next, he decidedly turned towards Peter. And took a step forward.

Peter backed up a bit, keeping the space between them.

"What's wrong?" the guy asked, furrowing his brow and taking another step.

"Nothing," Peter replied with a shrug, matching his step. "Just maintaining the space."

The man was starting to move forward quicker now. "I ain't doing anything."  
"Dude, that's a really bad approach to jumping someone."  
"Is it?"  
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure you have a knife."  
"I don't have a knife."  
"Man, you're totally _lying."_

It was at this point, he caught your eye and he was pretty sure he saw you hide a laugh. Which made him feel pretty good. Until...

The guy's lumbering movements and speech from before betrayed his speed. He was actually really fast, and a flash of silver sliced through the air.

Peter jumped back, attention now back to the creeper.  
"I KNEW IT! You had a knife—"

But the man wasted no time talking and Peter's voice was cut off when he lunged forward with another stroke of the blade. He grabbed the guy's arm, but the blade was longer than he'd originally thought, and with a bend of the wrist, the piece of metal cut into his forearm painfully. Immediately, he let go of the guy's arm, but the guy kept pushing forward, making jabs and swipes with the blade.  
This is where not reviewing the campus map again really took its toll.

Peter dodged them easily enough, and took a step back. Then another. And as soon as the next attack came, he dodged again, only to feel a brick wall hit his back. A hand shot out and grabbed Peter by the throat. He struggled, hands trying to find some space in between the guy's hand and his neck. But he couldn't loosen the iron grip around it. The guy had managed, likely out of luck, to catch him on the exhale. Air was losing _fast,_ and he was running out of ideas.  
All of a sudden when he looked up, the blade came down with force and this was where Peter made probably one of the worst decisions of his Spider-man career, but he was really out of ideas.

He let the blade take its run _through his hand._ The pain was absolutely jolting. But he knew this was his chance. Amidst the searing pain going up his forearm, he was able to surprise the guy enough to push off the wall and kick with both feet. And while Peter just about thought he was going to get his throat ripped out, the guy had loosened his grip enough to take the brunt of the kick by himself.

The man flew about ten feet and the blade clattered to the ground. As soon as he reached for it, Peter shot out two baby webs to secure the guy's hands to the ground, and a thinner web to pick it up and brought it back.  
Too late he realized the web was coming back to his _left hand._ The hand he blocked the blade with. That went through that hand.

It flung back with a sharp snap and he caught it and saw nothing wrong with it. Until he did.

As much as it would be appropriate to go into depth about adrenaline and pain tolerance/or lack of it, let's just say, he spent a good minute spitting out curses while grabbing as close as he could to his hand without actually grabbing it. The blade clattered to the ground _again,_ and he was feeling just about ready to kick a brick wall in.

 _"Are you okay?!"_  
The words sounded nearly muffled in his pain-induced _fuckitry_.

" _Yeah_ , I'm good. I just... _Need a minute,"_ Peter replied in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

You looked deeply concerned as her eyes darted from you and back to the man again. He was still struggling against his binds, cursing.

But as luck would have it, he wouldn't have a minute.  
Your eyes shifted to down the quad. Turns out the guy had come with accomplices. And they were _heading your way._  
"Uh, hey, we _need_ to go," you said and Peter followed your gaze towards the four men, most likely with _more knives._

"Hey, _I agree_ ," Peter responded, taking another moment to _breathe_ through the pain.  
The original attacker seemed to pick up on the cues and let out a yell. One of the four men turned, spotted them, and started running.  
"Yup, definitely time to go."

He then started running, shooting out a web towards the top of a building and started swinging, picking you up on the way. You nearly screamed as you were lifted up higher than your comfort level into the air, gripping tightly at the suit. Below you, the four caught up to their friend and seemed to be trying to figure out how to get him free.

"Hey, how good is your aim?" Peter asked loudly as you swung to the next building.

For the first time you realized he was trying to hold on with his injured hand. So you quickly brought your arms around his neck more securely and for safe measure, decided it wouldn't hurt to wrap your legs around him, too.

"It's uh... _Pretty good_ , I think," you manage to force yourself to say.

——

The night came to a close with you and Spider-man, swinging from building to building, with you trying your best to hit all of the emergency blue light boxes along the way (even though you most definitely missed a few).

When he asked you where you lived, you didn't really think twice to give him your location. He brought you to the window of your room with surprising accuracy, though opening it required a little bit of B & E to get it open (breaking and entering).

Once inside, you sighed a huge breath of relief, wanting nothing more than to curl up in your bed and forget about everything. But Spider-man _was_ still standing in your room, so you decided to turn and remember your manners.  
And then you remembered his hand.  
"Hey. Let me take a look at that," you said softly. You reached over and gently unfurl the hand that was held close to his chest.

It was still oozing huge amounts of blood and had already soaked a lot into the suit. Your eyes glanced up to him in apology before looking back down for further inspection.  
"Let me get the first-aid kit," you murmured quickly.

"Wait, no it's okay—really, I can take care of it," he protested, but it didn't seem like you noticed as you took out the Johnson & Johnson kit from behind your bathroom mirror.

You told him firmly that you wouldn't have any of that and brought him over to the bathroom where you could see the wound better. After carefully removing the glove of his suit, running it under cold water (or as cold as the faucet would get) for what seemed like half an hour, you realized the bleeding probably wouldn't stop on its own. After all, this wasn't just a little paper cut.

Still, you didn't think it was right to let him leave without bandaging it up first, and you insisted on this as the minimum.  
While pressing a thick sheet of gauze into what seemed to be a constant pool of blood, you looked directly into his mask curiously for the first time.

"What? Is there something on my face?" he asked, but you just laughed thinking he was joking.  
Of course, he wasn't, just forgot that he still had the mask on.

Some silence passed, and you continued, taking gauze wrap and started to circle it around his palm, taking care not to wrap it too tightly, but wrapping it securely.

He broke the silence with a cough.  
"So, uh... Can I ask you something?"

You look up, not saying anything, then shrugged. "Go for it."

He wracked his brain how to ask it, since he obviously couldn't ask openly, and he knew you didn't know. To you, he just seemed to hesitate before asking.  
"So, um. Are you seeing anyone right now?"

You looked up, this time with a quirk of the brow. A moment passed, and you looked back down, continuing to wrap his hand.  
"Yeah. Well, sort of... It's kind of been complicated lately. Hate to use that word though," you replied with a smile.

"What's his name?"

You frowned, finishing the gauze wrap.

"Or... _Her_ name?"

You let out a single, wry laugh and started putting everything back in the medical kit, though there wasn't much left to put back.  
"Why do you want to know?" you asked humorously. "So you can find him and beat him up?"

"Oh, _no,_ no, I wouldn't—" Peter started, "I mean, unless he was a jerk?"

You sighed and leaned back onto the sink in silence.  
"Don't worry, he's not. And... His name's Peter."

"Oh, what, really?"  
At that, he perked up, feeling his heart fly through his chest like a pinball machine. Then he realized that response wouldn't make sense and tried his best to dial it down, playing it off cool.  
"I mean, uh... Wow, _really?"_

"Yeah, _really,"_ you imitated his tone with a scoff and stared off into your room in thought. "I think the main reason it's been so complicated is because I've made it that way. It's not his fault I have tons of baggage."

Peter paused, sympathy pooling in his chest. A thought came to mind.  
"Well... Maybe he can help you with that," he suggested.

You gave him another weird look before responding.  
"Yeah. Maybe. So, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Know him." You lifted your chin with a smile, something suggesting a playful jab.

"Ye—Well, I mean, I'm not entirely sure," he let his hand fall on the back of his neck. "What's his last name?"

"Parker."

A long pause.

" _Parker..._ Parker, no yeah I think I do know him," he responded with a few nods. "Real nerdy guy, brown hair, _science...?_ Major?"  
"And a little short," you added.

Peter inwardly winced.  
"Uh, I mean... I don't know about _that_."

But you smiled.  
"It's okay. I don't mind it."

Some relief flooded through him. _Well, that's good._

"Well... I hope you guys are good for each other," Peter murmured. And before you could respond, "Because I mean—I get it. He seems actually kind of like a pretty cool guy, you know? Totally cooler than me... Ha. _I think."_

Another finger gun.

You laughed in response, if a bit awkwardly.

_God, he needed to stop that._

" _Well_ , I think it's time for me to go," he said, shuffling his way past you through the bathroom door and back out into your dorm room again.

You followed him out, arms loosely hugged around yourself.

"Thank you, _so much_ again for... This," Spider-man said, holding up his gauzed-up hand. "And I'll uh. See you soon?"

He began to climb up into the window frame, when you stopped him. A hand on his hand. And leaning forward, you unraveled the mask to uncover the lower half of his face. A kiss.

You pulled the mask back down again. "Well, off you go, Spider-man."

A long look. Then, he just nodded and left, leaving your window vacant within seconds. A warm breeze let itself in, matching the flutter you felt in your chest.

——

About half an hour later, Michelle came back into the room with a large bag of Funyuns. She frowned, as she walked up to your bed to see you lying there with what seemed to be an unusual expression of contentedness on your face.

"What's up with you?" she asked, opening the bag and taking a bite of a ring.

"Nothing," you replied, turning towards her with a slight smile. "Just figured things out, I think."

She just nodded, seeming somewhat satisfied with that answer and climbed up to the top bunk, leaving you to your happy thoughts about Peter.


	7. Dealing With It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided that the official mood song for this fic is definitely 'Complicated' but the version by Olivia O'Brien and Gnash because it's cute and angsty, and go take a listen!!
> 
> Peter and MJ have a talk. Certain topics get involved.
> 
> Maybe in this chapter, y/n will finally come around... Or not. ;)  
> Enjoy!

—

You stood in front of Peter's dorm room, heart thumping. You were face-to-face with the blocky and rather boring exterior of his door, though aside from the minimal amount of, well, _anything,_ you felt a tremendous amount of heaviness in your chest. Still, you couldn't help but notice how plain his door was, just in contrast to the others in the hall. There was hardly anything on it except for a small dry erase board. On it, in slightly uneven and overly blocky letters wrote, 'Ned & Peter's room'. _Good Lord, they could use some re-decorating._

And you were standing there for a not-so-bad reason. As far as bad reasons go.

Because for some reason, up until practically 2:00AM you could not, for the life of you, get yourself to send the text to Peter telling him to meet you. It felt near impossible after all the crap you'd put him through, first the ghosting and... _Well,_ that was it, but it was not fun to be ghosted. You knew all the thoughts that could swarm through your mind when it happened, hell, it could be _worse than awful._

So maybe trying to make this up would work. Michelle said he wasn't likely to take it out on you. _Whatever that_ _meant_ , though her advice tended to be sounder than most others. That was about as far as that conversation went, even when you pressed her for more information. But she didn't budge.  
Said it was better for you to find out yourself. In person.

So that's what you were doing. Or starting to do. At 2:15AM last night.

Writing a letter to Peter about some of what had been going on: the awkward feelings, family shit you'd put away for such a long time, you never thought it'd be a problem. How it was your fault and you were sorry, but thought it'd be good to talk it out. Maybe make it up to him.  
You _could_ talk to Peter, right?

Of course, this was all entirely condensed after about forty minutes of rewriting and crumbling up pieces of paper out of the back of your biology notebook. All the notes were online, anyway.

And it went something like this:

_Hey Peter,  
I want to start out this message with an apology. I've been acting  
really weird lately, I know. It's just some personal stuff I've been  
trying to deal with, and while it doesn't involve you, it's been  
affecting how I think about you._

_If possible, I'd like to start things over again. Explain to you what's  
been going on, and maybe we can talk over The Hobbit, pt. 2, even  
though I know you said it's 'nothing like the Lord of the Rings'.  
  
Text me if you'd be down. Please don't be mad.  
  
Y/n_

Okay, so not too bad... Right?

You slipped the note underneath his door, hoping that this archaic version of communication was a better choice than texting. It was _sort of romantic,_ wasn't it? Not that it necessarily needed to be, just that it added a bit of a personal touch. Showed you actually cared about making it up to him.

Once the note was under the door, you didn't hesitate to head back down the hall back to you room. It was already awkward enough for your to watch people read your notes, and even more so just at the thought of Peter reading your letter at all.

The door behind you couldn't slam shut fast enough. You went straight to your desk and opened your biology textbook to the chapter reading from last class. But despite your incessant staring at the charts of taxonomic rank and skimming through the paragraphs, your mind was hardly processing the information you read.

—

Peter's hand fidgeted on the edge of the study table, fitting the intensity of his burning stare into the cold tile floor. He wasn't in his room, he was in the science building on the other side of campus. He honestly felt a bit odd coming back to his dorm room on the daily when a pretty big aspect of his reason for being social there was practically nonexistent for the time being.

He didn't count himself as the type to avoid things, at least not on purpose. But oftentimes he knew he could get anxious when thinking about about confrontations. And right now, his anxiety was through the roof, causing his leg to continuously shake as he stood, leaned up against one of the tables in a study room.

MJ was there, too, watching calmly from her chair as her friend Peter turn into what was basically the definition of a 'nervous wreck.'  
The whiteboard was scribbled all over from him and MJ's study session—while she wasn't studying science, general education classes were a pain in the ass for her. She had apparently decided on the exact math that she found out all too late she didn't have the brain for. _Physics._  
In other words, she'd slept through the first two weeks not understanding the fundamentals of the class until it was past the drop class deadline. 

So when Peter had asked her, just out of the blue one day, if she needed help with studying for any classes, the answer was obvious— _Abso-fucking-lutely._

But it was obvious he was no longer focusing on the lesson, and for all his efforts in trying to illustrate the algebraic equations on a giant board that seemed to just as equally match her sense of dread for the next quiz, it was clear he was bombing it in his personal life. And _not in the good way._

"Okay, buddy. _Talk_." MJ decided this was better to get it over with.

Peter let out a long breath, hands moving to clasp in his lap while his leg stayed in motion.  
"It's kind of a weird, long story."

When she gave him a look of unmistakable dry sarcasm, he sighed.  
" _Okay_ , so the other day I was doing my usual business, like _not_ business, but you know, uh, like as—" he made a web-slinging hand, "—and there were these guys that were in an alleyway and I was on the roof of Brownstone with Cindy and—"

MJ looked at him with a frown as she interjected, "Okay, whoa, slow down. First, I meant 'talk' as in _not_ driving yourself insane. You're almost making _me_ have anxiety, and second, you mean Cindy from high school?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and these guys were trailing y/n, so I was going after them, and I fought this guy with a knife—"

"That explains the bandage," she noted with a nod towards his taped-up hand.  
She'd been wondering about that.

"Right, yes," Peter acknowledged then continued, "And... Okay, so I followed her and I fought a guy with a knife, but then the guy with the knife had friends, so I got her out of there, and we were back in her apartment and she told me not to leave cause of my hand, so I didn't, and basically I think she said she liked me, but then also kissed me, but like, _not me_ , and I honestly just have no clue what's going on since she hasn't been talking to me." He finally finished with a deep breath.

MJ took a second to process that information before she nodded nonchalantly. "Yup. Sounds about right."

He ran both hands over his face slowly. "Michelle, I'm just not too sure—"

"Don't call me Michelle," she said seriously.

"Okay, uh... _MJ?"_ That name sounded weird to say, too.

She paused before responding. That was weird for her to hear as well. "No, you're right just say Michelle. I'm also half bullshitting you. Sorry, continue."

Peter bit his cheek. "I'm just not too sure if I'm just crazy for still liking her, or if this just shouldn't work out..."  
He looked to her for help as his voice trailed off.

She stared at him curiously. "Why do you say 'shouldn't?"  
"Because..." He hesitated. "Maybe this is just... Too much to work out?"  
"Which part? The whole Spider-man thing, or you guys not talking?"  
"Both."  
"Peter," MJ started, "You've known her for how long?"  
"Uh... I don't know. Since last fall."  
"Right. And when did these issues start coming up?" She looked at him with a piercing gaze.

He fidgeted slightly under it.  
"A few weeks ago... I think."  
"Uh huh. It's been about a month, don't worry, and a month is a long time to be in conflict with someone," Michelle said sympathetically. "And aside from the fact that I've known her since freshman year and she's my roommate, aside from the fact that I know she's a good person," she continued, "She does have some things to work through that I hate to see cause they're difficult. But to be honest... Maybe you shouldn't ask her out."

That was not the advice he was expecting. At all.  
Peter stared at her for a moment, stunned.

"And before you say, _'Why Michelle? Can't I just ask out a girl I like?'_ my answer is, yes you can, but it'd probably benefit both of you if it happened after you've dealt with your respective issues," Michelle stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

He thought about that for a minute before his expression turned to a frown.  
"Wait, a second... You said _'your respective issues.'"_

She just shrugged, as if there was nothing wrong with that statement.

"What are my 'respective issues?'" Peter asked a little incredulously, standing up with his arms folded.

Michelle just looked at him up and down and let out a laugh. And when he didn't respond, looking genuinely puzzled, she decided his self-awareness needed some work.  
"Peter, here's a prompt: name some things good about yourself."

He hesitated a moment before answering.  
"Uh... I mean, I think I'm... Not like, unfunny, I'm good at solving problems, I try to take care of myself and I care for my friends."  
"Okay, good. Now name some bad things about yourself."  
 _Silence._

"You see the problem here?" MJ asked, eyebrow raised. "Believe me, you've also got issues, and if I didn't know you better, you'd probably appear almost nearly perfect."

The moment of silence after that caused MJ's face to turn slightly red.  
"But continuing with the point," she said quickly. "And I'm going to be kind of brutally honest."

Peter nodded. He was fine with that.  
"Go ahead."  
"You have a tendency to drop people at the first sign of a problem," she stated flatly.

He blinked, facial expression a mix of anticipation and confusion. "When—"  
"You want me to drop some examples, as awkward as it's going to be, _right now?"_  
"I mean, _yeah_ ," he replied, because in all his past relationships he didn't feel like that was ever an issue.

"Prom night," she said. "You left me at the restaurant after I said I thought Peter Jackson's films used too much CGI."  
Peter scoffed, discomfort creeping into him. "There was a robber outside."  
"He stole a half a salad and breadsticks from _Olive Garden,"_ Michelle sighed. "Those things are _free,_ Peter." She paused. "Or were."

Peter rolled his eyes impatiently.  
"Okay, any other examples?"  
"Yeah. Family dinner, two years ago."  
"I went to that." _Right?_  
"No, you didn't. You faked being sick because my grandma made fun of you," she laughed.

He let out a breath. "Your grandmother is _kind of mean,_ okay? And a little scary."  
"'Cause she called you chicken legs?"  
"Yeah, that too. Like I get the whole thing about not skipping leg day, alright?"

MJ rolled her eyes.  
"Last example I'm going to give: my birthday. In June." She sighed, eyes glancing to the corner of the room.

Peter looked up, his annoyance lifting from his expression. He searched her face, and realized she genuinely seemed to carry some regret. There was a hint of sadness to her stare.

Her eyes shifted back to him.  
"We got into a big argument the day before, and you didn't show up."

If he was feeling at all antagonistic or any tension towards her, it was now gone.  
There was a softness to her gaze, and this was the side of Michelle that Peter had, back in high school, well... _Fallen in love with._

He broke off eye contact, a sense of guilt creeping in.  
"I'm really sorry about that, Michelle," he murmured.

He remembered being angry then, and in the heat of the argument, forgotten what day it was the next day. Things were building up. She hadn't talked to him for a long time after, so Peter had just assumed that things were over and that was that.

"It's cool," she responded, a sense of resignation to her tone. "Not like I haven't had good birthdays since, so it's fine."

While he wasn't looking directly at her, he thought he could see her bring her sleeve up to her eye momentarily.  
He also knew she wouldn't feel great if he tried to console her. He wasn't sure if he'd want it from himself either. _How could he have been such an asshole then?_

"Bottom line," Michelle continued with a breath, and her eyes brought them back together. "I think you both have got some things to work on."  
He could see that.  
"But if you didn't wait, like let's say you realize, _'Wow, I really do like her'_ , then... I would just say, honestly commit."

Peter felt himself nod, and he got what she was saying to him.  
"Look, Michelle, if there's something I can do, just... Let me know." He said this earnestly.

She shrugged easily enough, a flash of her usual self showing briefly.  
"An apology is enough. And I think you've got someone else to be obsessing over now," she smirked.

He had to smile, a weight being lifted from the room.  
" _Ha ha,_ very funny."

Outside the building, the clock on campus began to ring.  
Peter turned his wrist over to check the time. _6:00PM._ He looked to Michelle, who was packing up her notebook into her bag.  
"Hey, uh. Ned and I were going to pick up some food, if you want to come."

She glanced at him, shrugged. "Sure. What kind of food?"  
"We're not sure yet. Haven't decided."  
"You want to get Five Guy's?" An eyebrow raised suggestively.

_Ah yes, the amazingly greasy king of the burger chains._

Peter smiled. "Sure."

They left the building, passing through the crosswalk and to the bus stop where Ned waited, headphones in. Michelle pulled his headphones off and whispered in his ear,  
 _"Guess who."_

He jumped and turned around, eyes flicking between the two. He must've felt uneasy from the easy expressions they had on their face.  
He smiled in response, "Hey, MJ!" Before quickly pulling Peter aside as they started walking, whispering fiercely in his ear.  
"What happened between you two?!"

Peter pushed him off, straightening the straps of his backpack. "Nothing, dude. We just talked."  
" _'Just talked?'_ Yeah, right dude, I told you she—"

Michelle suddenly came up behind them, an arm on either side. Silence ensued.  
"No, don't quit talking now. Genuinely curious on how much you've missed me in your loser friend group."

Ned started to jab back, and as the they chattered back and forth, Peter felt an old sense of high school come back to them.  
And he grinned.

—

Back at the dorm, you looked at your alarm clock sitting by your bed. _11:00PM._

Flopping over on your stomach, you checked your phone for text messages. _Nothing from Peter._ Or Michelle. You'd texted her, asking if she wanted to have a girl's movie night. Nada.  
You had to wonder whether or not Peter had gotten your letter, but more than that, you had a sinking feeling debating whether or not he'd even accept it.

And after a few more minutes of lying on your bed in silence, you began to feel stupid for writing one in the first place. He usually came back early to do something with Ned. Or you. And you'd hardly heard that much noise in the hallway of passerbys.

You sighed. You were _definitely_ overthinking it. And the thing was, _who's to say that Peter even still felt the same about you?_ You'd given him plenty of reasons to back off, and there's the possibility that he maybe just finally did.

Either way, you needed your mind off of this.

Sifting through your phone apps, you go through each folder and see if there was anything that would interest you. There wasn't really any games you felt like playing, and you had a lot of those.  
Then, thumb finding its way to the next page, you spotted a familiar flame-colored icon. Opening the app, you hadn't been on there in ages, although looking at the different profiles you'd matched with on there, you couldn't really remember why.

You went through the profiles that showed up, swiping left, left again, before seeing a profile that perked your interest.  
He had a neat haircut with a smooth fade. He had a somewhat similar build as Peter, though if possible, a little slimmer.

_Miles Morales. 18. 20 miles away._

He had pretty sweet outfits as well. Lots of bright colors, definitely more of a streetwear look.

You started to swipe right, then decided against it. From last year's experience, hooking up with freshman guys was a bad memory too many. You felt yourself cringe at the memories and the all-too-many bad decisions. _Moving on._

As you continued to swipe, a middle-aged man showed up. You forgot you must've changed your settings. He had graying hair, but surprisingly it wasn't unattractive. You tapped on his profile and looked through his photos. They were decent quality, not the old phone camera pics you'd expected. His body had a semi-muscular outline for his age, like he could have worked in construction or something similar. Something about his expression seemed warm and inviting.

 _Adrian. 44. 5 miles away._ _  
__'Looking for someone to connect with, share a drink.  
_ _Not looking for long-term, just a fun night out.'_

Sounded distracting enough.  
You tentatively swiped right, and it came up a match. Feeling a sense of anticipation, you were deciding on whether you should message him, when even more surprisingly, he sent you one first.

_> Hey, hon. :) You look stunning_

A small smile forming on your face, you replied back.

_Thanks. You, too <3_

He seemed to respond pretty quickly, an easy conversation going back and forth.

_> You a college student?_

_Yeah, I am._

_> How's that going for you?_

_Pretty good :) Although it could be going better_

_> Why's that?_

You paused for a moment.

 _Just some boy problems_ 🙄

 _> Adrian is typing...  
_> _Any advice you might want from an old man?_

_No thanks. Just figured it's pretty typical complicated bs :P_

_> Haha, figures.  
>You want to come over now?_

_Y/n is typing...  
Sure, why not?_

_> Great! My address is [insert number/street]. I can come pick you up_

_Thanks. :) I'm at [insert hall]._

You got up and left your phone on the bed, a pit of anticipation in your stomach.  
Though, in the back of your mind, you felt some small part of you want to hold back, more of you was desperate to get out of the suffocating coffin that was your room.

About half an hour later, you decided on a white tank, cuffed jeans, and a black bomber jacket that used to be your dad's. Just a thin layer of lip balm later, and you were ready to go.  
As you left your room, you had your phone, dorm keys, and a small can of pepper spray disguised as pink lipstick. It was one of those impulse purchases on Amazon that actually had gotten you out of a couple of hairy situations before.

Pushing through the doors of your hall, you felt the cool early-spring air hit your face. About twenty feet away, you could see his car along the side of the road leading off campus. He got out, wearing a worn leather jacket and greeted you with a smile. You quickly got into his car and asked if you could turn the radio on. He obliged.

As he pulled out onto the road, you put the window down and breathed out, hoping that some switch of pace could change things for the better.


	8. Proper Response/Initial Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, so the Vulture makes an appearance... Not all bad guys are bad, right? ;) (Gosh, what are these descriptions...)
> 
> I took about a five-day break from writing; now I understand why normal writers say they'll update once a week instead of sporadically every half day/every other. What's also funny is that this fic was meant to be a lot smuttier than it's turning out to be—other than the fact that I'd probably be pretty bad at writing a sex scene (though I'm also pretty bad at writing normal scenes as well-), I think my brain just goes to plot when it doesn't want emotional attachment (like a few dudes I know).
> 
> Also just to note (because I had no clue this word was spelled this way) horderves are the appetizers before a meal, usually in a fancy setting, just in case you're as confused as I was reading this twice in the first scene.
> 
> What's also important to note is that tasers/stun guns do not actually have the capacity to knock someone unconscious—it can only muscularly incapacitate you, contrary to Hollywood's portrayals. Which is just fancy talk for experiencing your muscles locking up.
> 
> Long notes aside, this is a very short chapter; enjoy!

—

"So, what are you planning on doing with your degree once you get it?"

Adrian stood, smiling at you from across the dining room table. He had a wine glass in hand, swirling it gently every now and then. He was _classy_ , like serious adult life you see in movies, only real and standing very much in front of you.

You shifted your weight, a matching glass in your hands. Carefully you swirled the glass yourself, remembering something about letting wine aerate or breathe, or something. You tried to keep yourself from peering, only occasionally glancing at the house on the way in, but the house was just so... _nice._ Furnished from head to toe, and while it only had two floors from the looks of it, the space was lofty and had high ceilings, which made it look even bigger. _How much could this have costed?_

You looked up with a small smile, indicating openness.

"I think I'll likely go for a master's or get a job studying marine microbiology," you responded honestly. "There's so much to learn from the fundamentals of our world, and it's... more manageable to look at."

Adrian nodded slowly, seeming to understand. "Ah, I can see what you mean. Things are certainly a lot more simple up close, huh? That must be somewhat comforting to focus on smaller things when the world's constantly changing."

Based on their conversation from earlier that night, he was a pretty keen man. He seemed to pick up on her thoughts, her moods, the implications or references made during the discussions. She imagined he was an experienced converser. Probably went on a lot of dates with a lot of women. But this was where his intuition diverged.

"Actually, I wouldn't really say that," you replied in earnest. "Just because you study something on a microscopic level doesn't make it simpler; it's just a deeper understanding of the things we already know. And... I like to know what I'm looking at."  
You smiled. Although you hadn't meant for that last statement to be flirty, it solicited a subtle smile from him.

"Me, too." He stood a little closer, brushing a stray hair from your forehead.

This almost felt like the right moment to start things. But just as it looked like you or him could've leaned in his eyes shifted in its intensity, starting on new conversation.

"You seem to really have a passion for your field. That's wonderful. I studied engineering and was an entrepreneur for a long time. It's how I eventually got around to this place," he explained, taking a sip of his drink. "Definitely can't live your life doing what you don't love."

You nodded in agreement.  
 _Strange._  
You felt you had a handle on the conversation—but this was fine.  
  
You continued to discuss your goals for the future, as well as the theories and interests that led you to want to study microbiology—after all, it was something you could study at multiple levels and in contrast to your response, there was something soothing about learning about things that weren't usually related to every day life. In a lot of ways, it was, but at the same time it wasn't like politics where you went home after a long day of work only to see more of it on the television.

It was nice to be able to discuss in depth your field of study and not have the boy ask, _'What is that again?'_  
You had to admit, it was refreshing company from the usual banter of students your age. He was respectful. Listened. Hardly missed a beat.

During the conversation though, you couldn't help but let your eyes wander. The home really _was_ nice. It had a homey, but very modern feel to it. The main room had a dark mahogany shelf as a divider, filled with books and what appeared to be various prototypes of different kinds of tools. The dining room the two of you were in had a metallic piece of 3D art mounted on its wall, looking something like wings folded over each other.

"What kind of entrepreneurial work do you do?" you asked, staring at the wall piece.

"Oh, I invent things," he answered, turning to face the same direction as you. "Tools to help in everyday life. I like things with a modern aesthetic. Not those clunky pieces of junk that you can get from the hardware store." He seemed to stare at the wings for a little while, deep in thought.  
"Though there are only so many things one can make... I would like to venture more into the processes for weapons development. And, I know, it sounds a bit out there," he admitted with a laugh. "But it's a surprisingly fascinating field. There's a surprising amount of things you can trade. Technology for technology. Working with other countries, it can be quite diplomatic as well."

He then turned to you again, a warm expression smoothing his features.  
"If you want I can show you the rest of the place. Couldn't help but notice you staring."

You blushed slightly at the fact that he had indeed noticed, despite your attempt to make it less conspicuous. You nodded.  
"Sure. I'd love to." You set your wine glass on the edge of the table, next to the spread of horderves he'd put out.

You'd drank just enough to be lightly and pleasantly buzzed, but nothing beyond what you'd had at family dinners (your family was fairly relaxed about having a small amount of alcohol during holiday meals).  
As you followed Adrian up the stairs to the second floor, you passed by some photos hanging on the wall. Him and a young woman, you guessed around your age.

"That's my daughter, Liz." He sounded pleased as he stopped to stand by you. "She's in her second year at Yale, studying art."  
His expression softened just slightly as he looked over the photo, where her arms were draped affectionately over his shoulders in a hug.

"You must be very proud," you murmured and met his gaze with a smile.

"I am."  
His gaze shifted back from its state of vulnerability. "I think you two would've liked each other. She had a science-oriented side to her as well." And he continued up the stairs.

You followed swiftly to catch up, wondering what he meant by _'would've',_ when at the top of the stairs, you stopped cold in your tracks.

Inside the open bedroom before you was Adrian. He was facing you, a gun pointed at your head the moment you reached the top of the stairs. He had a taser in the other hand, thumb over the safety.  
As a stiffening fear gripped your heart, he came forward, pushing the barrel of the gun against your right temple. You could feel the sharp tongs of the taser press into your side.

"Sorry, honey. I don't usually do this on the first date," he said, the warm tone of his timbre sounding almost apologetic.

Then you felt your body tense up on its own, and you wanted to remember nothing that happened after that.

—

"Wait, she's missing?"

Peter stood in his doorway that next Saturday morning in pajamas bottoms and a t-shirt. His brain had woken itself up upon hearing that after he had greeted Michelle and Ned with initial grogginess.

Michelle was crying. He knew her usual response to alarming situations was to hold everything in and handle it as matter-of-factly as possible. She had quickly turned to panic, and Peter could feel himself beginning to feel that as well. Even Ned appeared alarmed, pacing the hallway behind her to get some nervous energy out.

"Wait a minute, sorry Michelle, start from the top." Peter had tried taking in the information, but he just couldn't.

Even though MJ had described the situation in very specific detail. He was having trouble focusing in on her words.

She had to take a shaky breath before repeating herself.  
"She texted me Thursday night, when we were out getting burgers—something about how she was going to go see this guy she'd been talking to. It's normal for her to want to sleep over at a guy's place, so I didn't bother texting her but she wasn't back the following morning, I was starting to get worried. I tried calling her, texted her exactly seventeen times and she never responded—Peter, what else can I do?! She's not back yet and I don't know where she is!" Michelle sobbed.

This was so unlike her that it was putting him on edge. Never once had he seen her so upset. _Well,_ except when they argued, but that was a very _different_ kind of upset.

It took him a second to process the information. This was just going over his head way too quickly.

"Did you call the police?" He knew it sounded stupid as soon as he said it, especially since he knew that's the first thing Michelle would've done.

She nodded, hand wiping underneath her eye while she did so. She sniffed.  
"Yeah, I did. I called them about ten minutes ago. But Peter, what if they don't find her? This area has like, crazy-stupid crime rates and you know how freshman year the rumors about girls going missing—"  
It was at this point Peter moved forward to hug her. He didn't know what else to do, and he was fuming himself, but he couldn't stand seeing her like this.

And he got what she was talking about. During their first year, there were rumors spreading around the dorms, most likely information from upperclassmen, that the highway a few miles off of campus was a pathway that a lot of kidnappers used. While it was definitely meant to be more of a tactic to scare the freshman, it was hard to tell if there was any truth to it or not. Kidnapping in particular was a huge fear of MJ's ever since she was little—she had told Peter in high school that when she was ten a girl upstairs from her had gone missing. That there was blood found 

"It's okay, Michelle. I promise _everything will be okay."_ Emotion began to well up in his chest.  
But when these sorts of things happened, his panic tended to turn inwards into planning. It was just how he dealt with things—problems could be solved.

_You could be found._

He could feel tears seep into his shoulder as Michelle continued to cry. She was nearly shaking. He made eye contact with Ned out in the hallway, who seemed to be at a loss for what to say or do. All of them must've felt that way.

When the police arrived, they questioned first Michelle, then Ned, then him, as well as the hall RA and some others. He tried to answer as best as he could, but everything suddenly seemed to feel far away and distant, as if spending time with you had happened years ago instead of a month. The officer's questions echoed in his ears and the harder he tried to recollect the details of the past week or so, the less they seemed to want to be recalled.  
Once it was finally over, he didn't feel the sense of relief he should've felt.

Michelle was sitting on the floor of the hallway, knees pulled up to her chest, face buried in her arms. Ned was still trying to help, giving any extra tips he could to the officer still there. About their friendships, their lunches together, how y/n was really cool since she built Legos with them and liked Star Wars.

Time passed.

After the last officer had finally left, Ned was trying to help Michelle up from the floor. She wasn't responding and kept trying to sit back down.  
Peter had to remember: Michelle and you had been friends for _two years._ You were a part of her regular life, and not just as a roommate.

Finally, Michelle got up and pushed Ned's arms away, storming to the dorm room that you both shared.  
Peter got up to follow with Ned close behind, but the door was shut as soon as he got near. He let himself lean against the door frame, unsure of what to say.

"She was my _friend_ ," Michelle groaned from the other side of the door.  
He couldn't tell if she was talking to him or herself, or no one in particular. But it was the way she said it. _Was_ her friend. Michelle was already prepared to lose you.

Peter was silent, until he found the words to speak, much faster than he anticipated.  
"I'll find her, Michelle," he felt himself say.

He saw Ned look to him with a bewildered look. But he didn't say anything.

He had to do _something._ The police could search, but so could he.  
He _knew you._ And he needed to do something. He couldn't lose you. Not when you weren't lost. _Yet._

 _"I'll find her._ I promise."


End file.
